


Shattered Illusions

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a stand alone.<br/>I mention a battle but nothing is really seen so kept the rating at gen for this.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Illusions

_A spacious residence on the outskirts of Lyon, France which is situated between Paris and Marseille_

_Present time_

"Non, non, non, non!" d'Artagnan muttered fiercely into his empty room. Racing downstairs he nearly knocked Desiree off her feet.

"Slow down, mon garcon," she gently enfolded the lad into the comfort of her arms. Rocking him gently, for he had been through so much for his tender years, Desiree whispered soothing, nonsensical words in the child's ear.

"They're here," d'Artagnan whispered fiercely. "I won't go back! I'll never go back!" He pulled away from her and ran his hands through his hair. "You and the others promised me that if they ever found me none of you would give me away."

"I remember," her eyes grew sad for the youngster in front of her. Atoine, as the lad wanted to be known as now, was the sole survivor of an attack on his unit that left eight Musketeers dead. God alone only knew how d'Artagnan had survived long enough for her brother Christian and his friends to find him. But find him they had and brought the boy to her. She, along with her friends Michelle and Elisabeth, nursed d'Artagnan through his worst injuries. Desiree calculated that must have been nigh onto two months ago, and it wasn't until recently that the young man was able to move about freely. 

Hearing her outer door open and closing, Desiree turned to see who her visitor was. Her brother Christian appeared, along with Hamel and Guerin by his side. "Musketeers are entering the city as we speak." Christian eyed the boy and saw that d'Artagnan was nervously pacing the floor. He knew what they had promised the lad, though it didn't set well with him. Christian thought the boy deserved to be with his fellow brothers, but he entirely understood why the youngster baulked at the thought of returning with them.

"You know what to say," Desiree nodded at him and the other men. "Atoine will stay upstairs until they depart."

"Supposin' these Musketeers decide to linger?" Guerin said, earning a frantic look from the boy who looked ready to bolt out the door.

"I'll deal with it when and if it comes to that," Desiree shrugged as if it were no consequence to her as she pushed d'Artagnan toward the staircase leading to his room. "Now, mon petit, away with you." Seeing the lad's eyes fill up with tears, Desiree reached out to hug him to her once more, placing a gentle kiss to his temple. "Things will work out the way they were meant to be. Don't you worry about anything." She stood at the foot of the steps until d'Artagnan disappeared into his room.

++++

_A few hours previously - Just before entering the city and visiting Desiree's house_

"I will never give up hope that d'Artagnan is alive," Athos tipped his hat up to scout the area they were headed in. It had been with a heavy heart that Athos had returned to the garrison upon locating the unit d'Artagnan had been sent out with over two months ago. Finding the bodies of eight of their brethren murdered was something he was unlikely to forget for a very long time. Worry over how Aramis would react was uppermost in his mind at that point. But his friend handled it with grace as he did all other things life had thrown his way. Aramis had said prayers over the dead men and he, along with several other Musketeers, loaded up the wagons with the deceased to be taken back to Paris for burial. Meanwhile Porthos helped Athos deal with trying to find d'Artagnan for the boy was the only one unaccounted for which gave him hope that the lad was still among the living.

"If this is another one of em' wild goose chases I ain't gonna be happy none," Porthos growled. He was getting disheartened every time they checked up on a lead that d'Artagnan had been spotted, leaving them with heartache each time they came up empty.

"What?" Aramis tried to laugh but it sounded hollow even to his ears. "You didn't enjoy our journey to get here, mon frere?" Ten days earlier they had encountered a man from Lyon who they had questioned about their missing young one. The gentleman said a lad fitting that description lived in the city. So the three of them conversed and decided it would be worth their trouble to head there to see if it panned out.

"Shut up will ya, Mis?" Porthos muttered as he scratched behind Roulette's ear. His horse was just as tired and worn as he was feeling.

"If d'Artagnan is truly not here," Athos said, his blue eyes filled with pain, "we turn back and head for Paris," he glanced away from his comrades. "Treville will then announce that our pup is missing in action, presumed dead."

A heavy silence settled between the inseparables at Athos' declaration as the three Musketeers entered Lyon.

++++

_Lyon_

Riding into the city, Athos noticed the odd looks some of the citizens were sending them. A goodly portion actually crossed the street to be as far away from them as possible. It was if they feared them for some unknown reason. Quickly it became quite apparent that none of these folk would look directly into their faces either. Odd indeed, Athos thought and dwelled on the possibilities that came to mind.

Finally spotting a lone figure standing in front of a hardware store, Aramis shouted out. "Hallo!" Waving the individual over Aramis dismounted, holding Belle's reins tightly in his right hand. "Pardon, Monsieur," he bobbed his head. "We are looking for our youngest brother who goes by the name of d'Artagnan." Aramis didn't miss the way the man's eyes flickered at the mention of the lad's name. "Someone recently mentioned to us that a boy fitting his description was seen in this vicinity." Aramis then proceeded to give d'Artagnan's description to him.

Scratching his head, Simon pretended to not know what they were talking about. Shrugging his broad shoulders, he shook his head. "Non, I would certainly know if we had a Gascon in our midst."

"Merci anyway," Aramis watched the man walk away from them. Pursing his lips, it wasn't until Athos cleared his throat that Aramis turned his head to look upon his brother's questioning features.

"Do you believe him?" There was something not quite right about the man's body language and his answer that set off Athos' inner _d'Artagnan alarm bells_.

"I don't know," Aramis murmured, earning a deep scowl from Porthos.

"What cha' mean ya don't know?" Porthos leaned down from Roulette and tightly gripped Aramis' pauldron.

Shaking Porthos' hand off, Aramis effortlessly mounted Belle. "Just something I felt while I was talking to him."

"Want me ta follow em' and shake em' up a little?" Porthos grinned. Finally he'd have something to look forward too.

"Non," Athos shook his head. "I noticed an inn as we rode by," he gestured back down the way they had arrived. "We'll get rooms and then start to make more inquiries." Turning Roger around, Athos headed toward the inn.

Grunting his displeasure, Porthos inclined his head and followed his friends.

++++

_Present time - back at the home of Desiree and Christian_

Sitting on his bed, head in his hands, d'Artagnan thought perhaps he should run away so that his friends wouldn't find him here. He couldn't take it anymore and was disgusted with himself since he was supposed to be a king's Musketeer and champion. The memories haunted him of his brother's deaths at the hands of a band of malandrins that had attacked his unit. Viel, Nicolas, Guilland, Everard, Faulcon, Osmont, Perceval and Mathieu all fell during the heat of battle. D'Artagnan was the only one left alive though grievously wounded with a near fatal sword wound close to his heart. The canailles must have thought he was among the dead after he had passed out from blood loss, not counting the head injury he had sustained from falling off Zad. When d'Artagnan had regained consciousness the bodies of his brothers surrounded him. Trying to drag his own wounded one around, d'Artagnan managed to check on all the men only to discover they were all dead. Pounding the ground with his fist, he railed at God for allowing something like this to happen. Knowing he was in no shape to return back to Paris nor even bury his brothers, d'Artagnan managed to stumble his way down a barren road only to pass out a short while later. He had been discovered by Desiree's brother Christian and a few of his friends that had been traveling with him. Together they had loaded d'Artagnan up in Christian's cart and had taken him home.

Having been sick with fever from the wounds he had sustained, d'Artagnan hadn't been coherent long enough to tell anyone about the attack or the bodies of his brothers. It wasn't until midway into the second week that he was able to inform Desiree and Christian of what had taken place and the location of his unit. When Christian was about to round up some friends and bring the bodies back into the city, d'Artagnan had grabbed the man by his wrist. He had told Christian to make sure Captain Treville was notified but to not say a thing about him. Knowing that confused Christian, d'Artagnan told him that he couldn't return back to the regiment. Not after what he had witnessed. His own illusions were shattered at how he had perceived himself as being nearly invincible because he was a Musketeer. His blue cloak was draped over the back of a chair near his bedside. The fading blood stains that Desiree had tried to wash away were very much in evidence and stood out to him like a red flag. He was a failure that much was a certainty. Not only wasn't he deserving of being a Musketeer, d'Artagnan felt he wasn't deserving of having the inseparable's friendship... especially that of his mentor Athos.

++++

"Is it only me," Athos huffed, his voice filled with annoyance, "or did it seem like nearly half the city's population were lying through their teeth to us?"

"You ain't the only one who got that feelin'" Porthos agreed, wondering why the townspeople were keeping the truth from them. For he knew without a doubt they were close to finding their whelp.

Pushing his hat up slightly, Aramis sighed. "If that last woman we talked too didn't accidentally slip up we'd never have realized to check this home." It appeared to be a nice residence with multiple stables in the back. It sat on a good deal of acreage that even Aramis could see was being farmed as well. From his perspective, sitting on Belle, Aramis saw several men training horses in a ring near one of the larger stables. This would be just the environment d'Artagnan would thrive in.

"Can I help you, Messieurs?" Desiree stepped onto the porch to greet them. Studying each Musketeer, she instantly knew who they were. Her long talks with d'Artagnan always ended up with the boy telling her of his past adventures with his friends. He had described them perfectly. Athos was their leader and Desiree could see how the hardship of not knowing whether the lad was alive had taken its tole on him. The younger man was Aramis of course, d'Artagnan had described him rather colorfully. The dark-skinned Musketeer she knew without a doubt was Porthos. But how could she lie to these men with d'Artagnan right up the stairs merely feet away from them? What to do? What to do?

All three of them dismounted and tied their horses to a post in front of the porch. Athos approached the woman first as he removed his hat.

"Mademoiselle, we are in desperate need of locating one of our own," his blue eyes locked on the curious woman's, looking for any hint that she was about to lie her head off to him. "He goes by the name of d'Artagnan and is only nineteen years of age."

"Quite young to be a Musketeer, sir?" Desiree's eyebrows rose as she tried to gauge how old Athos truly was. She guessed the man was close to her own age but the marks of leadership he bore made him appear much older.

"He may be a jeune, but he's the most naturally talented swordsman we've ever had and the very best of brothers," Porthos' nearly choked up on his last words and he had to pause to get himself under control before he made a fool of himself in front of this woman.

"May we know you're name, Mademoiselle?" Since the lady hadn't corrected Athos, Aramis assumed she was unmarried.

"Desiree," she replied. Glancing at the three men waiting for her answer, Desiree made a snap decision and prayed d'Artagnan would forgive her. "I'll go ask my brother Christian if he has seen this young man anywhere around here." Before she turned to leave, Desiree looked directly at Athos as her eyes lifted upward toward the rooms above.

Smiling in relief, Athos knew what she was indicating to him without words. For some reason d'Artagnan didn't want to be found. After what he and the others had gone through these past few months, Athos would be damned if he'd stand by and let the whelp slip through their fingers as so much gossamer! Observing his brother's reactions, Athos could tell they were all on the same page as he.

++++

_D'Artagnan's room_

With tears dripping down his face, d'Artagnan sat cross-legged on his bed rocking back and forth mumbling to himself. "I can't go back... I can't go back... I'm a disgrace." His tears relentlessly kept coming and wouldn't stop.

It was in this distressed state that the inseparables found their young one in.

Swearing softly to himself, Athos lost his grip on his hat as it floated to the floor and instantly went to the boy's side and sat down on the bed.

Feeling the bed dip slightly, d'Artagnan's head snapped up in surprise. Seeing Athos' compassionate gaze resting on him rendered him speechless for a few seconds. "NON!" d'Artagnan pushed Athos away nearly making the older man fall on the floor. Literally flying off the bed, d'Artagnan stood several feet away from the three men. "NON!" he cried out again. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO BACK WITH YOU!" he shouted at them.

Easing his way over to the nearly hysterical pup, Porthos spoke softly as if approaching a skittish filly. "It's good ta see you alive and breathin', whelp," he inched a step closer. "We've been lookin' for ya a long time now," Porthos kept slowly making his way toward d'Artagnan until he was nearly nose to nose with the youngster. Seeing the lad hadn't budged from the corner he had backed himself into, Porthos felt confident he had this well in hand. That is until d'Artagnan gave him a mighty shove knocking him into Athos who stood close behind him. Both Musketeers landed harshly on the floor with a loud thump. Which left Aramis the last man standing to tackle the youngster down. But even that didn't happen as Porthos watched in shock as d'Artagnan neatly swept Aramis' legs out from under him and his brother ended up on the floor next to them with a loud whoosh. "Three grown men taken down by one small puppy," Porthos shook his head sadly as he got up and helped his friends to stand. "Tis a sad state of affairs, mon freres."

"Enough talk!" Athos barked. "D'Artagnan's gone! Get after him now!"

++++

Racing down the stairs as if his life depended upon it, d'Artagnan ran past Christian and Hamel. The latter two appeared not to know what was going on. Neither did the two maids, Jeanne and Marguerite who tried to stop d'Artagnan as the front door slammed in their faces on his way out.

"Pauvre garcon," Marguerite whispered to the other maid. "I wonder what has happened?" No sooner had she said this than the three Musketeers raced past her and the others. She, like a good portion of her neighbors in the city, knew about d'Artagnan and what had happened to him. The lad's reason for not wanting to go home were still questioned by many, but they had all taken an instant liking to the younger man and would abide by his wishes even though it went against the grain. Recognizing the uniform those three men wore, Marguerite realized that d'Artagnan's friends had finally found him.

++++

"There!" Porthos shouted. "The whelp went into the stable!" Not bothering to wait for his brothers, Porthos ran inside first only to have a large pile of hay dumped on him from above.

When Aramis and Athos entered the stable they didn't see their larger friend anywhere until sounds of swearing could be heard coming out from inside a huge haystack. Looking at each other the men shrugged and began removing clumps of straw until they uncovered an angry Porthos.

"Can't say I like the look," Aramis tilted his head as he studied his friend with straw sticking out of his hair every which way.

"Not amusin'" Porthos got up, shook the hay from his clothing and glared up into the hayloft where d'Artagnan no doubt was. But in this he was wrong.

As soon as d'Artagnan had taken care of Porthos he grabbed a heavy rope that was dangling from the loft and through an opening in the barn swung outside where he let go and somersaulted into a wagon full of soft hay. Making a successful landing, d'Artagnan jumped out of the wagon and made to run away again until he was finally tackled from behind by Athos. Struggling against his mentor, d'Artagnan shouted. "LET ME GO! I'M NO USE TO YOU ANYMORE!"

Pinioning the boy's arms above his head, Athos braced himself over the pup so that d'Artagnan couldn't wiggle away this time. "NEVER!" he yelled back. "Aramis! Porthos! Come help me with d'Artagnan!"

The other two men joined Athos and the boy as each one grabbed d'Artagnan by the arm holding him tightly until Athos got off him.

"Please," d'Artagnan panted, out of breath from all the running about he had been doing, "I'm not worthy of being a Musketeer anymore," he hung his head. "Eight dead bodies can attest to that," he added quietly. Then his head was caught in a vise-like grip and lifted up.

Shaking the boy, Athos was beside himself with anger. "Did you kill your brothers then?" He shook d'Artagnan again for good measure. "Did you?"

"Non," d'Artagnan answered tearfully. "But I couldn't save them... any of them," he hiccuped. "What good am I as a Musketeer if I couldn't do even that? I haven't even held a blade in my hand since it happened."

Feeling Athos' hands leave his face, d'Artagnan began to breathe normally again until Aramis' hands rested on his shoulders next. "If I could survive the Savoy massacre after losing twenty of my brethren," he too gently shook the lad, "you can survive this."

"Is that the reason we didn't hear from ya?" Porthos hugged the lad to him, resting his chin on top of d'Artagnan's head. "We didn't know what ta think, whelp?"

"I told Christian to let Captain Treville know where my unit was but that I didn't want to be found," d'Artagnan freely admitted. Noting the grim expressions on the inseparables faces, he ducked his head. A finger under his chin gently prodded his face upward until he was staring into Athos' hard blue gaze.

"I never want to go through something like this again," Athos admonished gently. "When we get you back home you and I are in for a very long discussion. It will be something similar to how we got Aramis through his own grief after the incident at Savoy."

"Oui," Aramis nodded. "And when Athos is finished with you," he poked d'Artagnan lightly in the chest, "it's you and me next, mon ami." It didn't escape Aramis' keen eyes that the lad winced when he had touched the lad's chest, reminding himself that he needed to see where the boy had been wounded so he could check on how the pup was healing.

"Yeah," Porthos snorted. "Then, whelp," he grinned, "I get ta have my turn with ya," he pointed to the stable. "I owe ya one for what cha' did to me back there," he ruffled the lad's hair fondly.

"And then," Athos mockingly glowered at the boy, "we'll polish up your fighting skills again."

"Has everything been settled now?" Desiree asked as she and Christian joined them, standing safely back a ways not wanting to get caught up in the crossfire. Noting the boy's pout as he turned to stare at her in reproach, Desiree strode forward and grabbed his chin. Pecking him on the nose with her lips, she smiled. "Do you forgive me?"

Shyly, d'Artagnan nodded his head as Desiree slipped her arm through his. "I have just baked a batch of brioche to go with our dinner," she glanced behind her at all the men. "Well come on all of you. Don't just dither there."

"I like her?" Aramis laughed and then frowned as Porthos knocked him up the backside of his head. "Ow!"

"What woman don't cha' like, Mis?" Porthos chuckled while Athos rolled his eyes walking past them to catch up to d'Artagnan and Desiree.

"Is _that one_ always on the prowl?" Desiree asked Athos, finding it immensely amusing. "He's exactly how d'Artagnan described him?"

"Pretty much." Then Athos quirked a brow as he observed d'Artagnan's blush. "How _exactly_ did the boy describe us?"

"Oh wouldn't you all like to know," she responded with a wink d'Artagnan's direction as they went inside the house.

The End

 

 

 

 


End file.
